


Sunrise Letter

by kenzieann27



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Mild Blood, Moving On
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22858963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzieann27/pseuds/kenzieann27
Summary: Patty remembers that night like it happened yesterday. Screaming her throat raw, scaring the shit out of the neighbors who believed someone was being murdered. Sitting numb on her bed, cheeks puffy and eyes red not from anger, but emptiness.
Relationships: Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Sunrise Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I had wanted to write this for a few weeks, and I think it turned out better than I first imagined it. I wanted to write a very raw story about grief because I feel like I do struggle when it comes to writing things like this.
> 
> I know it gets worse as the story goes on, I did rush it a bit towards the end so I apologize for that.

It would have been a lie to say that things were okay. Patty told herself that often, that she was okay, but deep down she knew that she wasn’t. How could she be? That summer had taken away everything from her. Her best friend, the love of her life, the person she would have had a beautiful child with and would have grown old with. All those things seemed to drain away just as the blood-stained water has drained away in the bathtub in their- her- bathroom. Of course, now, it could never be _their_ bathroom. Nothing could be theirs again. Only hers.

Patty remembers that night like it happened yesterday. Screaming her throat raw, scaring the shit out of the neighbors who believed someone was being murdered. Sitting numb on her bed, cheeks puffy and eyes red not from anger, but emptiness. A new emptiness that she had never felt when she was with Stanley. She had almost tried convincing herself that that person in that bathtub was not her husband. Stanley Uris was happy, Stanley Uris loved life more than anything. Sure, he had moments where he would stare off into space, never blinking, before returning to his work as if that moment had never passed. Sure, he would have terrible nightmares that would wake both of them up. But in the end, Stanley was happy. He loved his wife, he loved his job, he loved his house, he loved his future. He was always so certain of his future, too. Knowing where to go, where to live. But now, that certainty was gone. Patty realized these things as two strangers talked to her in her bedroom, giving her sympathetic looks as they said words that she would never let sink in. She only stared at their hands, stained with blood. So much blood in one night that Patty would get sick even at sight of the color red. That metallic smell coming back to her, taunting her, reminding her of what she’d lost.

She could barely sleep after that night, only able to take short naps on the couch in the living room, that unfinished puzzle on the coffee table. After a week of staring at it, Patty had shoved the puzzle off the table in a fit of anger. It returned, though, a few hours later, Patty mumbling apologies as her trembling hands struggled to put it back the way it was, tears streaming down her face again and again.

After a month, Patty had begun moving her belongings into the guest bedroom. Her old bedroom door handle gathered dust, the room itself grew cold. Her hair kept growing in a mess of split ends and tangled knots that she tore through each morning. She loved the guest bedroom, the bedroom that one day would have belonged to her son or daughter. Patty remembered getting lost in a bookstore one day, looking at books to introduce to her classroom and ended up looking through a book of baby names. She smiled at each page, forming a child in her mind for a name that stuck out to her. Abigail would have freckles all over her pale face, while Richard would have inherited Stanley’s perfect curly hair. She mentioned those names to Stanley later that day, resulting in him bursting out in a fit of laughter. After a minute, though, his smile seemed to fade, but Patty’s resolution to find the perfect names did not. Together, they had settled on the names that made them smile whenever they mentioned them. Jenny, with her curly hair and silly laugh, and Andy, with his big blue eyes and feet that would never stop kicking around. Month after month, year after year, neither of them had taken that bedroom. They were considering adoption as well, just beginning to dip their toes into that new world before that night came and gone. When Patty had told her mother of the possibility of adoption, she soon gifted her a pair of white shoes for an infant, ones that were once worn by Patty herself. Those shoes now mocked Patty, sitting upon a shelf above the dresser in her new bedroom. Laces that will never be tied around a struggling foot with tiny, lacy socks peeking out over the tops. They soon found a new home, at the bottom of the dresser in her old bedroom. Packed away just Patty’s memories of her old self, her happier self.

Every day seemed to pass by, the same old routine of avoiding the past while not being able to confront the future. Patty was making lunch one afternoon when she heard the soft doorbell echo through the house. She ignored it at first before it rang out again, a few knocks coming from the front door as well.

Patty interrupted another series of knocks as she opened the door, a strange face greeting her. She assumed the stranger was lost due to their somewhat surprised expression, though she was proven wrong when he reached out his hand for her to shake.

"Patty, right? Patricia?"

"I'm sorry," she said, hesitantly shaking the stranger's hand. "I don't- what?"

She recognized the voice more than anything. That vulgar voice that yelled out from their television at least once every few months, Patty off checking students' essays while Stan watched some show that he'd never watch otherwise. It was that voice he was entranced by, but he never knew why.

"Stanny, why do you like this comedian so much? You don't think he's funny... if anything, you seem to only watch him to make fun of him." Patty never paid too much attention to those shows, though that voice was distinct enough to be engrained in her memory.

"I think he's funny, just not the jokes he's telling. If he had different material, he'd be funnier." Stanley would say, focusing on the television in front of him, loud cheers erupting from the audience. "He seems... familiar, you know? Like an old friend. You ever get that feeling that you know someone because their face looks so familiar? I guess that's what it's like with Richie Tozier."

"I'm pretty sure you would remember if you knew Richie Tozier, honey."

Her grip tightened as she shook his hand, the memories coming back to her, his voice filling her head. She should have known the stranger, of course, he was slowly making his way into a household name by this point, like Jerry Seinfeld or that Mulaney fellow.

"I don't mean to bother you or anything, I just... you know."

Six letters were mailed out a few days after Stanley had died, Patty discovered those in his office and tried her best to do what was asked of her. She still hadn't felt it in her heart to read the one that was addressed to her, but she understood enough what to do with the other six. Already stamped and addressed, she gave one of the letters a quick read before assuming it was gibberish. Still, though, sure dropped them into the mailbox, happy to be rid of them. Her letter, on the other hand, remained unopened, sitting in its place on that desk. Patty promised herself she would not read it until she was okay, or at least until she felt okay enough to brave through whatever words Stanley left for her.

"I knew your husband," he said, noticing her eyes wander, staring off in the distance. "Stan was my best friend. When we were kids, I mean."

She nodded, stepping aside, offering for Richie to enter the house. She felt weird, letting this stranger into her space, though at the same time it felt like the right thing to do; over the years, she had known of this person, even if she didn’t know him like Stanley apparently did, she still felt this sense of familiarity with Richie. He seemed a bit surprised before entering, looking around at the unsurprisingly neat place. He wore a gray hoodie, one that Patty assumed he wore quite often based on the state of it, and a dark pair of jeans. His hair was short, his composure loose, though the thing that was most noticeable about him were his thick, clunky glasses. 

"So... how-"

"Things have been fine," Patty interrupted, returning to the kitchen to finish her lunch. She's had this similar conversation hundreds of times with her parents, Stanley's parents, friends, family, even complete strangers. It's awkward. She knew that her presence as Stanley's wife made things awkward.

"I'm sorry about what happened. I know it's hard losing someone like that." He turned to look at her, that same sympathetic smile on his face that was on everyone's faces. What surprised Patty, though, was that he shared that same underlying look of defeat as her.

"Thank you."

"What... what was he like? Like as an adult. I only knew Stan as a kid," he laughed. "But I'm sure he wasn't all that different."

"Happy. He was really happy. He loved going down to Florida during the winter, he wasn't sure why, though. We always had nice times there. I don't know... he was perfect, I guess. He was just very endearing, even when he wasn't trying to be. Stan- he loved you, by the way. Like your shows."

"Oh, now I know you're lying."

"No, I mean it. He wouldn't laugh very much, but he watched your shows."

"Now that sounds more like Stan. He never really laughed at my jokes. I mean, I know I was a super annoying kid, so I don't blame him too much. Super weird, by the way."

"What is?"

"Stan. As a kid. He'd just laugh at himself for no reason sometimes. He was always scared, too, like he was afraid of life. I mean... he was a very logical kid. He hated unpredictable stuff. Things had to go Stan's way or they were not going at all. One day he refused to get ice cream with me because the wind was blowing west and he lived on the eastern side of town, like he was afraid the ice cream would blow onto his shirt."

Patty nodded, smiling softly as she imagined Stanley sitting on a front porch somewhere, crossing his arms and shaking his head simply because of the wind.

"We were going to go to Argentina next month," she sniffed, feeling the tears start to well up into her eyes. "He was just so excited. I- I don't... I don't know what happened."

"Hey," Richie walked over to her, softly grabbing her hands as she shook her head. "I think you should still go on the trip. Maybe it'll help you feel better, you know, like to take a break from all of this. Take a friend, or like your mom or something. You're allowed to have fun still."

"I d-don't want to just act like that," she felt her jaw tremble as she spoke, trying so hard not to get like this again. "I don't want to act like... like he was never here. He's always here."

"You don't have to move on if you don't want to. I mean... it's going to get easier. But you don't have to do anything you're not ready to." Richie reached across the counter, offering her a few napkins to wipe her face. "People expect you to be able to just forgive and forget and you'll be all better. It's hard, I know. You just need to take a break from this, and I promise you'll feel a lot better. Hang out with your friends, visit your family. The more you get your mind off grieving, it gets a little easier to face when you do think about it again."

"They... they don't understand. He was fine, I swear. One minute he's just his happy self and the next he's dead and I- I don't get it. It was p-pr-probably my fault. I wasn't paying attention enough."

"It wasn't your fault. I know that you can see it that way but it's never your fault."

"They think I’m just crazy. I tried to tell them that he was… I tried to explain what was going on that day. I tried to remember that day, that week. He was perfectly happy. Nothing was different until that night. Even then I feel like I’m just grasping at straws." Patty took a deep breath but continued to shake somewhat. "I feel like I don’t even know who he was anymore."

"Stan was always good at keeping secrets. Not that that’s a bad thing, though. A lot of the time he kept secrets to protect people." Patty pushed away from him then, moving out of the kitchen to sit on the couch. Richie didn’t follow her, not immediately, but he continued speaking as Patty put her head in her hands. "Stan knew me better than anyone. He still probably knows me better than anyone. But I know that trying to go through life alone is a shitty thing to do to yourself. I know how you feel, I’ve been through this. Fuck, I’m _still_ going through this."

She remained silent, though not because she was ignoring Richie. Patty didn’t know how to do this, how to fix things with herself. It’s been a month, she knew, but it still feels like yesterday. She can still hear his laugh echo through the hallway when he’d pick her up and spin her around. She can still see him when she looks at that puzzle from her seat at the counter, forming only the back of his head. Patty was lost, she knew that much. What was she supposed to do? To move on and forget? To pretend like nothing happened? None of her choices seemed okay, not to a woman who had to put her husband in the ground a few weeks ago. Nothing at all seemed okay.

"For the longest time, Stanley was the only person that I told- he was the only person to really know me. For 20-something years, actually, but that’s only because the other person was a complete accident, it was… anyway,” Richie moved towards the couch, sitting on the opposite end from where Patty was sitting. She slowly looked up, wiping her face with the napkin balled-up in her hand. “I went through hell last month. It felt like I lost everything, it still feels like that. I stayed in my apartment for like a week straight, wouldn’t talk to anyone or really do anything. I just didn’t know how to process what happened. Then someone came along and made me realize that things can get better. They’ll never be the same, of course, but they can get better than they are right now."

"What did- how did you get better?"

"Like I said, someone came along. Just a friend, I guess, but that’s all it takes sometimes. We, uh… we took this road trip for a few days, just out West. The best thing was that we didn’t talk that much, we just drove. It was calm, and I guess I just really needed that. Don’t know how he knew that, but I’m glad he did."

"Is that why you’re here?" She asked softly, looking down at the floor.

"I’m here because I feel like I have to. Because I know you need that person right now to just let you know that there is still so much life out there for you."

"I don’t have many friends. I’m guessing that they… most of them just feel bad for me. I don’t want that."

“Then go by yourself. It’s still a vacation, you know? Sit in the sun on a beach, go hiking in the hills or whatever. Just go out and experience something.” Richie smiled at her before looking at the puzzle on the table. A confused look grew on his face as he looked at the missing piece, sitting next to the rest of the puzzle.

“Could… you wouldn’t want to go?” Patty watched as Richie stared at the puzzle, clearly deciding whether to finish it or not. “I think that if it would be anyone, it should be you. Stanley probably would have wanted it to be you. You clearly understand this stuff, too, so it’d be nice to have someone who I can talk to about this.”

Patty remembered that August morning, a small feeling of hope in her heart as she filled her suitcase. Her hair was back to its healthy, short self, not entirely unlike Patty herself. A week after Richie’s visit, Patty was able to go back into her old bedroom. Not entirely, of course, but she was able to at least move the furniture around a bit, changing the sheets and opening the windows. It felt oddly freeing, if that would be the word for it. The bathroom would take some time to go into, but she felt content with taking back her bedroom.

It would have been awkward to make Richie stay in that bedroom, anyway. Even if it was just the one night before they were to leave for the airport. They talked nearly every day since his visit, easily becoming friends in their moments of darkness.

It was quite funny, as well, the looks that she got at the airport with him. Those looks were welcome after the looks she had been receiving for so long. She would laugh, her first genuine laugh since that day, when a young woman at the airport would notice Patty’s ring and ask her when she and Richie were going to get married. Richie gave Patty a serious look of offense before laughing as well, the young woman’s face growing red in embarrassment due to the misunderstanding.

The trip itself would go just as well as they both could have hoped for. Hours upon hours were spent exploring cities, laying on beaches, or even just watching movies in a hotel room. It wasn’t the vacation that she and Stanley would have had, of course, but this wasn’t a vacation from work or home. This was a vacation from death, a vacation from grieving a loss that Patty would carry with her for the rest of her life. She felt a little guilty for going on this trip, as if she was celebrating something. But then she’d see Richie in some horrendous shirt, smiling as he called his friends. _Vacations are celebrations of life_ , Patty would tell herself in those moments of guilt. _Vacations are celebrations of everything new_.

Richie was not the person that Patty originally believed him to be, the more they talked to each other through restless nights. Though, she saw a similarity between them that was deeper than their shared losses. They both had a love for old movies, ones that Richie would try to quote only for Patty to end up in a fit of laughter at his impressions of the female characters. They had similar laughs as well, their noses scrunched up, hands hiding their smiles that didn’t need to be hidden at all. Those smiles seemed to be etched onto their faces, replacing those underlying fears and empty stares that once lived there. That isn’t to say sadness would never come again, especially when it came to those losses, but as Patty looked at Richie on the airplane back home, she knew that things might just be a little easier if she had someone like him as a friend.

Of course, Patty wouldn’t know these things when she looked over at Richie that afternoon, wondering if he would go with her across the world.

“Argentina is close to Brazil, right?"

* * *

_Patty_ , she read, looking out over the Atlantic Ocean, sitting comfortably in the sand under the shade of a few trees. _I know that none of this makes any sense. I know no words that I could ever write would make anything okay. I know that nothing right now can take away that fear or that pain or that anger that you are feeling._

She didn’t mean to take it with her when she left, that letter. But, at the same time, it felt like the right thing to do. It’s the last day of her vacation, the last morning. She felt like reading this while watching the sunrise would make things not so dark. Stanley talked about fear and anger, but in her mind, all she could envision was anything but. Patty saw all of the times where she did not feel those things at all because of him. Anniversaries when they would go ice skating, even though they were both terrible at it. Birthdays spent laying on the grass in the park, staring up at the clouds as Stanley would roll over and kiss her cheek over and over again. Even their bad days were never truly bad when they were together. He’d hold her hand for hours just to resist the urge of scratching his own, she’d vent out all her problems with him until everything, _everything_ , was okay. So many laughs, so many tears. But no fear, and certainly no anger.

_I made a lot of promises in my life. Promises that were maybe too big for me to keep. Loving you was never an issue, though. That’s a promise that will never be broken. I know it’s not much use to tell you these things now, like a love letter from the dead. I never meant for any of this to happen, I truly forgot that sometimes the weight of the world falls onto the wrong shoulders. Even if I did remember, if I knew what I promised to do, I don’t think I would have changed anything when it came to you. You made me forget the things that needed to be forgotten. People talk about a light at the end of the tunnel, you know, that the only way to get to that light is to keep going. You were that light, and you made my life so much more than a dark tunnel._

The rest of the letter seems to have taken a descent into scribbles, that neat handwriting becoming shakier as the words continued on.

_I know none of this makes sense. I don’t mean to put you through this, but I just don’t know what to do. I’ve been running away from my life for so long that I forgot I was even doing it. I love you more than anything, please believe that. There are just things in this world that are too much to face, if there is a way to explain this. Please just keep going, keep being the wonderful person that I know you are. You mean the world to me, honey. Please know that. Please remember that the world has so many amazing things to offer, more than this._ _You deserve to go out and do all of the things I would have been too afraid to do._

_I did want to go back, if they ever ask. I wanted to go back more than anything, to be able to see them again and see where they ended up and see if they were as happy as I was. But I knew these scars, and I knew the threat that I posed by going back. I didn’t want to put them through so much more than what they were going to go through. And I couldn’t sit by and watch that happen, feel as they were taken away all because I was too afraid to join them. I could have gone, really, and gotten myself killed. But I knew my best option and I’ve seen it before. I didn’t want to let that promise go, too. I was 14 when I made that promise to myself, nearly a year later and the nightmares never gave up on me. I had almost forgotten about that as well until that night and all those nightmares came back all at once, like water rushing when the dam starts to crack and break. It all came back and it was too much and I don't want to know that I killed my best friends. I know what I did to you, Patty, was much, much worse, but I feel like the best option to make sure everything was going to be okay for everyone would be for, well, you know._

_You are much stronger than anyone I've ever met, honey, so I promise that you will be okay and that your life will be short of nothing but greatness. And that is a promise that I don't ever intend on breaking. And please remember that you have been the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life. So, thank you, and I love you so much._

Tears began to fall onto the letter, causing Patty to fold it quickly and store it back in the small bag next to her. She debated, for a while, whether to tear up the letter. To bury it in the sand. To toss it into the water, letting the sandy waves carry it out to the great big ocean. Instead, with her face turned into the sun, Patty simply breathed. She didn't know what to expect in that letter. Outbursts of anger towards her, questions about their divorce, or simply a statement of "I don't love you anymore" often came to her mind. But this, of course, felt different than anything she could have imagined. She didn't understand a lot of Stanley's words, she wasn't sure if she was even meant to understand them. Still, though, as her blonde hair fluttered in the wind, the roaring of waves in the distance calmed any questions that Patty could have had. Richie would know, she believed, what those words meant. It was gibberish to Patty, but Richie seemed to be fond of gibberish.

For now, though, Patty was okay with looking at the sunrise glowing over the horizon. She was okay with the start of a new day, a rather pleasant day. She wasn't okay with these things because she was okay, though. But rather because she had a bit of hope that someday they could be okay. Maybe not this pleasant day, and maybe not the stormy day tomorrow, but, like Stanley, she believed that one day she would find the courage to let go of those fears so that, even for a moment, she could be okay. 

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr - @kenzie-ann27


End file.
